The Avatar's Final War
by Hagunemnon
Summary: After surviving the hell of Pagan, the Avatar finds himself in the Guardian's own back yard. Now, he must fight his final war against the Red Titan, free Britannia, and save the cosmos from enslavement.


**The Avatar's Final War**

Chapter One: Arrival

A cold, harsh wind swept over him as he looked down toward the giant stone face of the Guardian, it looked as though it took up what used to be an entire mountain. He was here, he had suffered through many trials in Pagan, and here he was, on the Guardian's own world; in his own back yard. The Avatar felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him. Creating a black gate from nothing but one's own force of magic was no mean feat, and had drained him greatly. He heard a sound behind him, the shuffling of a few rocks, and before he could turn to see what was approaching him, he felt a hard blow against the back of his head and the Avatar fell unconscious on the ground.

"Do you see these robes? They must be silk!" said one of the pair of filthy, disheveled humans who'd knocked the Avatar out.

The thief's partner looked anxiously at him and said, "Quick, get what you can before he wakes up!"

As they stripped the Avatar down to nothing more than the clothes on his back (minus, of course, his robe), the duo heard a screech and, thinking it might be one of the Master's daemonic servants, fled the scene with their packs, full of their ill-gotten gains, slung over their shoulders. Once they were gone, the source of the screech, a woman in drab, tattered clothes approached the strange-looking, oddly clean man and with a great sigh, picked him up over her shoulder and took him down the mountain to the small collection of hovels below. A village in only the loosest sense, this place was about as run-down and ratty as its inhabitants. After several hours, the Avatar awoke on a small, thin cot in one of these huts. As he sat up, he felt the throbbing in his head where he'd been hit and noticed a curtain door being swept aside. Pressing himself up further, he looked at the figure that'd come in, and wondered if she were one of the ones who'd attacked him.

"It would seem that you're finally awake, sir," the young lady said. "I'm not one of those bandits that robbed you, you can relax. I don't know where they ran off to; such people are lower even than us slaves and live in the many caves that surround this area."

His senses finally returning to him, the Avatar sat a bit more upright and asked, "Who are you, m'lady? And where am I?"

The young woman looked at him with a mix of amazement and curiosity; no one ever called a slave "m'lady," it just wasn't done. After a few moments' awkward silence, she said, "My name is Natasha, sir. Who might you be?"

He mulled it over for a moment and, deciding it unwise to reveal his identity as the Avatar so soon after arriving on the Guardian's world, he replied, "I'm called James."

She found this man, James', manner very odd. He was clean, like a noble, and he even spoke like one. However, this man didn't act like a noble; he was far too polite and he even acted as though he were no better than she, an idea that would be thought almost criminal, if any other nobles were to catch wind of it. Going by his build, she thought him a soldier, but again, he was far too nice. He wasn't demanding half her food, berating her for being so dirty, and didn't look as though he were contemplating raping or killing her. If anything, his eyes looked like those of a man who'd been forced to witness many terrible tragedies. She knew that look all too well, as many of the men of this village were what was left over from other villages that'd been destroyed for "being too uppity" or "not showing the proper respect to their betters."

The Avatar was the first to speak after this long silence, saying, "Would you mind getting me-"and Natasha's mind stopped for a moment. He couldn't be demanding things now. Not after coming off as compassionate. In her near-panic, she almost missed his other two words, "-some water?" Water. All he wanted was water. Not demanding a feast, not demanding her body, not demanding her life. Just simple, plain water. Hesitating for a few moments, she took a small cup from a nearby shelf and went out to the well that was near her house. Taking a cupful of water from the bucket she drew from the well, she proceeded back to her home and handed this odd stranger that for which he'd asked.

Grateful beyond words, the Avatar drank deeply from the somewhat small cup. After finishing it, he thanked Natasha, saying "Many thanks, m'lady! I needed that."

Natasha stared at this strange man, this James, thinking how utterly out-of-place he seemed. It was almost as if…but, no, the Master wouldn't allow that. He said no travelers were allowed to enter his world without his permission and his will was absolute. However, she couldn't help it as her curiosity overtook her and she asked, "Begging your pardon, Sir James, but…from where do you hail?"

The Avatar thought that over for many moments. Obviously, he couldn't tell this woman the truth, though his spirit rebelled even more fiercely given his previous lie. He settled for something he hoped would satisfy her curiosity and not run the risk of giving too much away too quickly, "I'm from a village a long way from here, I was traveling in hopes of finding somewhere to sell my wares when those bandits waylaid me and stole everything."

She nodded as he spoke, and replied, "That makes sense. I apologize for asking questions above my station, Sir. You may stay here and rest as long as you need, Sir."

He nodded in thanks and, after she departed, he laid back on his cot and tried to sleep…traveling from Pagan had taken so much power, he was surprised he was even alive. Pagan…Pagan…

_Where am I? _ He thought as the dreamscape begun to form around him from complete blackness. _I have to be dreaming, this is so unreal…_

His train of thought was interrupted as he felt the Guardian's hand clasp him as he floated helplessly in the Void, his mind screaming for the Serpents' help even as he felt their exhaustion from their reformation. The next thing he felt was a sudden shift as he sank helplessly in the waters of an alien world, flailing as he desperately discarded almost all his belongings, letting the sacred serpent relics fall into the pitch black depths. He felt water filling his lungs and panic set in as darkness claimed him.

He watched again as Toran was beheaded, saw the poor man's wife scream as his head fell into the same waters from which he was so narrowly rescued. Mordea's face was almost alight with sadistic pleasure as her hold over Tenebrae became just a little stronger. Mordea…his rage began to burn as he thought of that witch's foul presence. She was a malignant sore on the already benighted island of Morgaelin. How he wished he could've trounced her himself, but watching Devon banish her to the hellish waters that nearly claimed him was almost as satisfying.

The horrors he witnessed in Pagan flashed by him for what felt like years. Each one was worse than the other, each one stabbing him in the heart a little harder. Then, his mind went to the darkest moment of his life. It was as if time was slowed down; he watched Dupre offer himself as the sacrifice to recreate the Chaos serpent. He saw the flames rise out of the gaping maw atop the cremation oven…and watched Dupre willingly step inside. His friend, his comrade, the most honourable man he'd ever known, didn't even scream as the flames took him.

The regret began welling up on him as he felt hands on his shoulders shaking him violently. He tried to fight the hands that were trying to shake him apart, but the dreamscape vanished and he was back in Natasha's hut, his body covered in cold sweat and lying in a heap on the floor.

"By the Master, what happened, Sir James?" she asked the man. She was coming home from her daily toil when she heard James screaming inside her home. For a second, she'd thought the worst had happened and a soldier had inspected her house and was attempting to kill James so he could claim her for his own.

That was when she saw him, covered in sweat, on the floor, thrashing about and screaming while quite clearly asleep. She shook him as hard as she could, and the tears streaming down his face were as gut-wrenching as the expression on his face was when he finally awoke.

For his part, the Avatar was both thankful and deeply embarrassed. He hadn't wanted that to happen, but the events on Serpent's Isle and Pagan had put an extreme strain on him. Not even in the times of Mondain, Minax, and Exodus had he seen such horrible things. He tried to steady himself and get back on the cot as he grunted and said he'd had a nightmare, something Natasha didn't doubt for an instant. She didn't know what had overcome her, but seeing a man as good as he is looking like he'd left a mass funeral was too much, and she held the strange man that had fallen into her life as he finally broke down and wailed. For the first time since he'd last left Earth, the Avatar cried. He wept for all he'd lost, for all the people he'd failed to save, for the world he may have doomed.


End file.
